


Grades and Extra Credit

by Yung_Mofftiss (OnWednesdaysWeStudyinPink)



Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:26:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnWednesdaysWeStudyinPink/pseuds/Yung_Mofftiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>originally posted here: http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/25077.html?thread=2166005</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grades and Extra Credit

There’s a case in Wisconsin (of all places) that looks like a chimera attack and Walter has been left behind with Astrid at the lab. Tonight they want to take advantage of their time together, but they need something different then the usual ‘I’m a scientist and you’re my lab assistant’ roleplay, something more than the regular games they play. ‘Naughty Nurse’ is out because of the time Walter spent in St. Claire’s and when she reminds him that he was once a professor, he comes up with a  _brilliant_  idea. So they take a fourty minute break to reconfigure what they're going to do; Walter takes the opportunity to go up to the cafeteria for a snack and she leaves to go get props.  
  
When he returns to the lab with his backpack and completely fed, Professor Farnsworth (who is going to be something of a dominatrix who won’t put up with his crap) is tapping her foot impatiently as she scowls and crosses her arms across her chest. Walter nearly smiles at the fact she’s wearing a very formfitting pencil skirt and a starched white oxford AND glasses, but then he remembers that as a student (who they decide is taking French 101 in night class), she’s probably not interested in his thoughts.  
  
“Mr Bishop—“ she starts.  
  
“It’s ‘doctor’,” he tries to correct as he sits down at the desk in front of the blackboard.  
  
“Not in my classroom! You’re late!” she barks, slamming a textbook down heavily on the desktop.  
  
He jumps slightly and nervously slicks back his hair—he figures she probably wants him to look neat and in order.  
  
“There was a line at the cafeteria’s sundae bar—“ he offers helpfully.  
  
“Dessert! You were late for my class because you wanted something sweet?” she shouts, her eyes narrowing. “Did you do your homework?”  
  
“Oh, uh, yes, about that…”  
  
Her eyes are angrily slits at this point, her lips pressed thin. “Late for class, neglecting your work. What am I to do with you?”  
  
“I can make it up,” he swears. “Extra credit?”  
  
“Get in my office,” she snarls, jabbing her finger towards the office that Dunham usually uses for her paperwork.  
  
Walter quickly grabs his notebook, pen, and backpack and hurries after her—she does NOT look like a woman he wants to cross.  
  
She sits on the edge of the desk and he takes a seat in front of her. This office still smells like the coffee he’d spilt yesterday and old files, slightly dusty. However, he can smell his lab assistant’s perfume and while he isn’t a man that usually finds that attractive, it’s like she’s a patiserrie, sugar in a stark desert of the bland lab chemicals.  
  
“Miss Farnsworth—“ he starts, staring at her knees.  
  
“Professor Farnsworth,” she corrects.  
  
“Professor Farnsworth, I’m sure there’s something I can do…” He looks up at her hopefully. “I’m uh, very skilled with my tongue. Language and all that. Oral...exams.”  
  
Walter is sure he imagines the slight twitch of her lips.   
  
“Get on your knees,” she orders as she stands up.  
  
He does as he’s told and kneels in front of her; the cement floor isn't to kind to him but he doesn't intend on spending too much time down here. His assistant/professor strikes him as a quick finisher. He pushes he skirt up, fingers hungrily and excitedly traveling up her thighs to see—  
  
 _“Nylons?”_  he says softly in disappointment and confusion.  
  
“I can’t hear you when you mumble, Mr Bishop!” she barks then adds in a whisper,  _“I couldn’t find stockings on such a short notice!”_  
  
He shrugs slightly and pulls them down along with pink panties; those make him smile because he hadn’t expected such a harsh woman—  
  
“I don’t have all night, Mr Bishop,” she growls.  
  
“Doctor,” he corrects, looking up from between her legs.   
  
“It’s Mr Bishop in here--"  
  
She doesn't finish her thought as he drags his tongue along the sticky rivet starting to run down the inside of her thigh. She spreads her legs a little more and leans back against the desk, allowing him better access.  
  
 _'The alphabet!'_  he thinks to himself as starts tracing letters across her labia with his tongue. She groans and one of her hands twists itself into his hair. 'A is for Astrid. B is for Bunsen Burner, C is for Carbon, D is for Dolamide, E is for Eureka...' His hands desperately hang onto her hips, holding her firmly as around the letter J (for Jupiter) she starts to come. Walter is amused she couldn't even last until M for Mercury.  
  
As she pants raggedly, allowing him to lap at her skin lazily, he uses one of his hands to stroke himself through his trousers. When it feels like she's caught her breath, he rests his head against her thigh and looks up. She gives an embarrassed smile and he's about to ask her if she would give him a rating from 'good' to 'excellent', but instead she shoves him away, making him fall hard on his ass.  
  
“You're not done," she says cooly as she pulls her panties and nylons back on. "Your vocabulary homework. Did you have it?”  
  
“I, uh,” he stammers as he licks his lips and gets to his feet.  
  
She pulls something out of the desk's top drawer and covertly slides it over to him. It's a sheet of paper and to his utmost surprise and delight, he sees it’s an actual French vocabulary lesson sheet.  
  
“Yes!”   
  
“Take off your pants and bend over the desk.” She has a large metre ruler in her hands and she slaps it aggressively across her palm. “I hope for your sake you’ve been paying attention in class.”  
  
He eagerly does as he's told, excited to see where she's going to be taking this.  
  
“What is the answer to number one?” she asks, standing behind him.  
  
Walter glances at the lesson sheet and winces preemptively when he realises that the answers have been left blank.  
  
"I didn't answer it."  
  
The metre ruler cracks across his bare skin and he yelps. God, how he loves pain. She comes up behind him and manouvers him so that he's standing a little farther from the desk and his feet are spread apart a little more.   
  
 _"You'll thank me later,"_  she whispers and he nods appreciatively.   
  
She returns to her position and to her glaring. "And the answer to number two?"  
  
"I didn't answer that either."  
  
She strikes him with the ruler once more and he hisses from the pain as his fingers tighten on the desk's surface. She was definitely right--this position was much better!  
  
"What about number three?" she asks.  
  
He shakes his head. "Nothing."  
  
Another stinging hit with the ruler.  
  
"Number four?"  
  
His eyes close--damn he wants to wank to this! "I forgot to do it."  
  
He hisses as the metre stick makes contact with him again.  
  
"Five?"  
  
"Must have missed it as well," he moans awaiting the caning she's about to deliver.  
  
She doesn't disappoint and then asks, "Six?"  
  
"It's blank."  
  
The ruler cuts through the air to smack against him.  
  
"Seven?"  
  
His knees are starting to shake and he can only imagine what his welted skin must look like. "I didn't write anything."  
  
The ruler strikes him again. "Eight?"  
  
"Nothing," he promises, not knowing how much longer he'll be able to last.  
  
"Nine?"  
  
"Uh..."  
  
"I'll take that as a no, Mr Bishop," she sneers before lashing him again. “And number—“  
  
Her cellphone rings and she quickly pulls off her glasses as she answers it.  
  
“Hi, Peter.” She sits down on the edge of the desk next to him, one leg crossed over the other. “Yeah, no, everything’s okay. Is there something you need me to do?” She glances momentarily down at him. “He’s fine. Did you want to talk to him?”  
  
Professor Farnsworth/Astrid swats him hard one more time with the ruler and that’s all it takes for him to groan loudly and finish against the desk.  
  
“Mon  _Dieu_ ,” he moans, ready to slump to his knees..  
  
She smiles and covers the phone with her hand so Peter won’t hear what she’s saying.  
  
“Mr Bishop, I think you’ve just earned yourself an A.”


End file.
